Morning dark with occasional snow but it cleared away afterwards. I went to the Office and was busy quietly there in doing little however which was very material. Wrote my Diary, went over my Accounts and owing to the weather passed my time without my usual walk. Received a letter doubtful but inclining to a return tomorrow, from Mr. Brooks at Philadelphia.1 Called at Edward Brooks’ office to show this to him and then home.

Read my usual portion of Ovid which pleased me. As I go on I feel more pleased with these books. There is an elegance, a grace in the Greek Mythology which takes off all the strangeness of it. The stories have every sort of extravagance and not a little coarseness in substance and yet there is none of it visible in the flowing lines of the author of the Metamorphoses.

In the Afternoon I pursued the Correspondence of R. R. Livingston whose merit is certainly great but who seems not to have been very amiable in his style. I suspect he and my grandfather were not calculated to agree very well together. Evening quiet at home, reading to my Wife.